


Track 36

by Pastel Comma (Regina_Hark)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awkward Sexual Situations, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, LitRPG, Male Submissive, Monster sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PWP, Pheromones, Predator/Prey, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Situational Humiliation, Slow Build, Tentacles on Male, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regina_Hark/pseuds/Pastel%20Comma
Summary: Rodrick Grimley was your typical adventurer until one day, he isn’t. Trapped in a pit by a scheming monster girl, he has something to offer and sadly, it isn’t just his life. For him, the only way out means leaving his manly pride and diginity in the unyielding coils of the tentacle monster.





	1. Death Would Be Better Than This

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue and set-up.
> 
> *shrugs aggressively*
> 
> Updates when it updates.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plot starts. Poorly.

Rodrick stumbled through the dungeon’s weakening gate portal, stepping from one dark world to a surprisingly dim one. Overhead, the setting sun fled the spring sky. The murky blue giving way to that of a shadowed hull. Bits of light, the first of the evening stars, cut through the drape of the incoming night. Rodrick took note of their positions. Which one led north and south and so on.

He’ll need them to navigate the night road.

Darkness so thick that any sign on the way would read only as gibberish and his own sight a liar.

Rodrick threw himself a few feet further out, leaving behind the small opening of hill and rock. Without an invader to question its dominion, the gate portal withdrew back within the crevice. Once again, it was a waiting darkness. The opening shimmered ever so often. Humming. A faint malevolent gleam rippling across its false form. The gate portal hummed louder. Taunting him.

The adventurer ignored the bait and dragged his sore limbs further away.

If the gate portal was humming with unknown magicks, and he could still hear it, siren-like and bewildering, he was too close. Because that’s all it would take. One more run inside. One more clash with the monsters in and he’d slip up. Fail a block. Miss an attack. Forget a dodge. Then wind up dead on the floor, food for the dungeon’s trap-filled halls and monster-infested rooms. Because, truly, that’s all it would take. One last chance for the dungeon to make a claim on his life like it did to so many adventurers before him.

Rodrick collapsed on his knees and caught his breath, panting loudly.

Beads of sweat ran down his white skin. Streams of it clawing its way to the parts of him that were uncovered. His face. His neck. His finger-less gloves. It puddled on the darkened earth. Pale splotches that shined then sunk into the corrupted soil. The rest of his body just had to endure the discomfort. He was wearing so much necessary adventuring gear to even think of going through all the steps to remove it.

Rodrick tugged at the high collar of his under-armor. Letting some of the heat escape.

The red fabric as stiff as ever. And useless, really. It strangled him as much as it saved his life.

He took inventory on the status of his gear. The news was predictable bad. All of his armor was on the verge of losing their durability yet again. Rodrick supposed it was his fault for relying on prayer and magic instead of buying replacements when he could. The belts around his waist, thighs and arms, hosting the various armor plates were frayed, withered. The copper plates themselves dented. Rodrick tried the breast-plate around his front. The belts looping around his shoulders and back loose and far too flimsy for his liking.

His over-armor was fine for what it was.

Black and slim-fitting, it was built for speed and dungeon runs. The enchanted fabric capable of blending into the shadows of monster-controlled areas. In the dwindling light of the day, he was extremely inconspicuous, looking like a red and black nuisance to all the people who were interested in shooting first and asking questions later.

Rodrick patted the red vest he wore.

Ha, he was out of mana potions. The adventurer pooled on his magic and concentrated for a simple armor repair spell. That was a mistake. The backlash whipped through his body, forcing him onto his knees. Well, fuck. He’d have to stop by the church for a free all-heal when he got back to town. If he got back to town.  
Swallowing away the need to vomit, Rodrick weakly took in his surroundings.

He wasn’t quite in the forest proper yet. Dungeons tended to claim and corrupt the earth nearest to them. The real forest was still a couple of miles away. The earth he knelt on was blackened and dead. Skeletons of formerly healthy trees leaned against the lone hill. The leaves gray. The grass shriveled and sickly to the touch.

Beyond here was Riverbrook Forest.

Known for its sloping hills, rich waterways, and soft soil.

The sound of water cresting through streams and small waterfalls reached his ears. Rodrick idly looked at the sky again. Dusk was here and so too were the beasts that called this place home. He hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet. The odd rituals the animals did here at night. Among the trees and bushes, Rodrick watched outlines of wolves and foxes scatter. The deer called to their young. The bears ushered their cubs further up the hilly slopes. Animals that could climb darted into the treetops. Animals that could dig buried themselves into the mounds.

And the birds, well, the birds were just assholes.

All the animals for except them were fleeing from the monsters that owned the night. Hellish creatures that crawled out of dungeons or spawned from unholy sites made from death and madness. Day monsters were a reasonable sort. If they couldn’t make a meal out of a traveler or a deer, they still had berries and fruit to content with. If they lost interest in you, that was it for that particular monster, they unwilling to chase after a troublesome dinner. But night monsters? They weren’t as generous. Hunting everything in sight was the only way that kept them full and quiet during the day.

Above on branches and perches, the flock of flesh-seeking birds gave their best cries.

Anything to disorientate the monsters into lingering just a little longer. They imitated the young. Did the wolves have all their pups? Could that be a fawn in distress? What if a bear cub had been left behind? And worse still, they imitated the mother. Young strayed from their packs. Cattle from their herds. Cubs from their dens. Fawns stood in the tall grass, looking desperately around.

Assholes, indeed.

In this forest, the birds hunted first and ate last.

Rodrick adjusted his item holster and the sheath that hung around his waist, the motion calming. He bit his lip, his thoughts going dark. There’s no other way he could think of it. He’s fucked for the rest of today, soon to be tonight. Running the numbers in his head, the sums weren’t adding up right. Today, he’s made what, a few coin? Twenty coppers? That shit amount couldn’t pay for a seat at the cheapest pub in the area or even the fencing price of the mug of water he’d have to beg for.

Somehow, he’s gotten a few mana shards. The worthless ones.

He’ll pawn them for what he can but that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. Places in the outskirts of kingdoms like here didn’t take trash from dungeons. Why would they when they could send one of their own to fetch this or that for little more than some useless experience coins.

A man couldn’t eat experience coins.

And he couldn’t sell em’ either.

But the dungeon had the nerve to drop nothing but experience coins and copper coins. Rubbing it in.

Experience coins were a sort of measurement to see how often an adventurer fought but they became junk the moment one earned them. They raised your permit level and nothing else. They didn’t level up your unique job skills. They didn’t effect your base stats. And unless you paid your way to a useful permit class like [Adventurer Class C], it was like toiling in hell to level from [Adventurer Class F] to [Adventurer Class E].

Rodrick licked the inside of his mouth. The hunger clawing at him even now. It was easy to forget in the heat of battle that yes, he needed money and that yes, killing monsters wouldn’t materialize a full course meal right after.

He had been hoping today would have been the day.

The good day.

Become a man who could stay in his inn room the whole night. Walk into the inn’s common room and eat without having to look at the children’s menu. As it stood, he’s lucked out again. He earned nothing from this dungeon and there’s nothing more he can do about it. The dungeons at night became twice as dangerous. Roads to dungeons would soon be overran with monsters. And he with his low levels and wavering heath couldn’t even risk throwing his life on the line for one more shot.

He simply couldn’t afford it.

If a night monster beat him within an inch of death, he couldn’t cover his stay at the local healer’s. If he lost any of his equipment, he couldn’t replace any of it. If he made a nuisance of himself around the villages, they could have his adventurer permit suspended. And thus, lose what little income he made.

Rodrick muttered a prayer, “In the name of Aulra, please show me the way.”

> [Rookie Adventurer] Rodrick Grimley  
>  [LVL]: 10  
>  [Species]: Human  
>  [Race]: Participating Character (PC)  
>  [HP]: 75/300  
>  [MP]: 0/50

The prayer pendant around his neck began to shine, feeding off the wayward mana in the air. The pendant lifted itself forward and poured out a shifting light. A translucent screen was formed, showing his basic information and nothing else. He didn’t have the magic to direct it into showing all of his stats. Besides, he didn’t need to see them. He knew the truth. His stats were pathetic.

Rodrick forced himself up and ignored the whimper of his stomach.

He needed to find somewhere to bunk down for the night. His pendant shone.

[Entering Riverbrook Forest (in Day)]  
Monster Hostility: 40%  
Beast Hostility: 20%  
Area Effect: Water/Earth Attacks Weakened  
Area Effect: Fire/Wind Attacks Strengthened  
Harvestable Goods: Riverleaf. Brookberry. Dew Dandelions. Wet Wood.  
Suggested Level for Area: 7

Somewhere not around here.

Rodrick walked on shaky legs, using the trees to keep his body from keeling over. He went through his options. An abandoned farm. A barn that wasn’t guarded by a dog or an angry cow. Anywhere secure enough where he didn’t have to worry about a monster getting a bite out of him in his sleep. Rodrick drifted. The birds cawing and flying after him. The slowest thing in the forest was usually the first to go down in the night.

Rodrick shrugged off their cries. He still had some daylight left.

The nearest village was an hour away. But there had to be a farm or two he missed between here and there. If he found one empty, he’ll camp out on the first floor. If not, he’ll offer his services in the morning. Dungeon runs out here in the outskirts were supposed to be cheaper and easier. That’s why he paid for the boat to the Southern Continent in the first place. But it seemed be nothing but nonsense.

The dungeons he came across were always picked clean before he reached them. The loot the mana monsters dropped useless. And the native monsters, the flesh-and-blood creatures that were alleged to a dungeon core, well, he didn’t know what to take from their corpses.

He was an adventurer, not a butcher.

Rodrick made his way down the rolling slopes and onto the sturdier trails of the Riverbrook Forest.

The living trees here were denser and thicker than the ones he was used to.

The upper trunks and blue bark growing on one another to make a natural wall against the elements. The lower trunks were thin and stick-like in comparison. As if they were roots to the upper parts of the trees. They were bent in odd shapes, the lower trunks bending away from one another to make oval-shaped passages between them.

The name Riverbrook wasn’t just for show.

The nearby rivers often overflowed into the forest when it rained, according to the locals. Since the trees couldn’t up and move out of the way, they made walls with their body. Diverting roots to hide up in the hills and their lower trunks to take the brunt of the rivers’ force.

Rodrick carried down the well-beaten path and chuckled to himself.

His sheepskin leather boots stepping nicely between the grooves of men and women who came and gone long before him. He imagined those managed to fight their way into [Adventurer Class C] and up didn’t need roads or signs to find the way. They just went wherever they felt like and fought down whoever was in their way, having those good things where the only thing on their mind was getting that treasure first.

He rested against a tree and ran the numbers again.

If he sold everything he owned, he could afford a ticket back to Central.

And just… give up.

No more sleepless nights. No more living off handouts. No more running the numbers.

He could get a simple job, somewhere. Anywhere. A workman’s permit was cheap compared to an adventurer’s one. Just 10 aulras and he’d be set to work. He could become a miner or a logger or a clerk at a store. Wouldn’t that be the easy life? A steady paycheck and a roof over his head.

His ears caught a sound.

Rodrick looked into the underbrush, the bush across the path undisturbed. There was nothing there or could there be something pretending it was nothing there. He looked a little harder, a hand moving to his sheath. He saw tall grass and dark bush and something a little- Rodrick squinted. Something a little shiny.

It was what, a few steps beyond into the bush?

Rodrick considered the dusk, and the long walk ahead of him, and the future of a steady job in a monster-free city, and stepped over like the fool he was. He couldn’t help it. Adventure. Rodrick examined the bush, shaking out the thin branches and wide leaves. Did the loot move? He looked around him. He was almost alone. The birds were around, silent now, but they’ll be after him until he tucked himself into a shelter they couldn’t summon a big enough monster to destroy. The deer had long vanished out of sight. The wolves near gone. A few bears looking his way and looking his way.

Dawn, they’d chase him for sure. Dusk, he could keep his skinny ass to himself.

But regardless, he’d hadn’t imagined the shine.

There was loot here.

Somewhere.

[Leaving Riverbrook Forest (in Day)]

His pendent glowed against his chest. The light turning red. A curious sign.

[No Recorded Information of This Area]  
[Performing Emergency Basic Scan: Please Proceed with Caution!]

Rodrick breached the line of bushes and crossed into unwieldy foliage. Long and fat leaves brushed against his face and the stalks of grass swallowed his lower half. He aimed for patches of earth that were devoid of grass and greenery. They were the only way he could orientate himself in this sea of green. Between the rows of trees or rather behind them there were pockets of vines and weeds clustering up and over the earth, their roots abandoned. You think with all the constant floods and water underfoot, there wouldn’t be much fertile soil for anything else to grow. But they made it work, growing big and annoying.

Out the side of his eye, the loot shined.

Rodrick followed it, heading further and further into the grass sea.

Here the stalks grew over him. Shoot-like stems, long and flat and wide as a board, swayed in the spring air. Rodrick stared, going breathless from the sight. It was as if he’s stepped into a different forest. Here the trees were towering grass. The roads overgrown roots. The foliage denser and stone-like, refusing to bend under his boot.

Every bit of green he stepped on reacted, recoiling and arching back as if readying for a strike.

Rodrick kept his feet to the patches of earth he spotted was clear and roots where no green grew. Balls of pollen floated by. Cotton-like and puffy with their golden glow. They bumped and bounced off his frame, shedding off more of that infernal dust. The dust haloed around his face, becoming a helm of some sort. The pollen tinting his view into a gold-ish gleam.

Didn't matter. Gold was gold.

[Entering (Unmapped) Wild Dungeon 11878]  
Monster Hostility: 100%  
Beast Hostility: 5%  
Area Effect: All Physical Attacks are Weakened  
Area Effect: All Magical Attacks are Strengthened  
Harvestable Goods: Elmgrass. Pollen Sprite. Human Bone. Human Hair. Corpse Dirt.  
Suggested Level for Area: 40

[You are Severely Underleveled: Leave Dungeon]

Rodrick coughed, the pollen overtaking the air.

[Wearer is under a Status Ailment (Forest Witchery)]  
[Seconds before Forest Witchery takes hold: 60]  
…  
…  
…

[You have become Lost]  
[You have become Bewitched]

The more he breathed, the more his vision began to twist. Rodrick tried read the words of his pendant shone but the words blurred before his eyes. He wandered along, his mind growing blanker and blanker until all that guided him on was a familiar glint.

Rodrick walked and walked until he nearly walked right over it.

Down in the dirt, there was a shallow hole and in that hole, there was a gold ingot. “What!”

Rodrick snatched up the coin and jammed it into his pocket. It squished and the color ran down the squishy shape but he knew gold the moment he spotted it. “I can’t believe-” Cackling over his prize, he heard movement and turned on his heels. In the thicket, he spotted a rabbit with a weave of leaf ringing around its brown fur. The leaf ring almost looking like a collar.

It must have been a quirk of the local ecosystem or a new monster variant yet to be identified.

[Recommended Action: Leave Dungeon]

The rabbit chewed on a strange holster, weaved out of more of this strange grass and not the leather of Rodrick’s. On it, he could see that the coin pouch was open. There was more gold. Much more gold.

Throwing caution to the wind, he ran, and of course, the rabbit ran faster.

[Recommended Immediate Action: Leave Dungeon]

Rodrick gave chase. This was it. This is what made adventuring so worthwhile! That one moment. That one chance that made a man either a miserable drifter or a rich king. The gold ingots spilled from the item pouch one by one, a path of shiny stones that grew bright under the sun’s waning rays. Some part of him wanted to stop. To collect the coins already out. There had to be twenty, no, forty on the forest floor.

But why should he have to settle for a few coins?!

The rabbit slowed ahead and scratched its fur, kicking off the leaf around its neck. Rodrick charged it, expecting to reach when it jumped away. The rabbit gave itself a sharp shake and left the holster behind, hopping into the underbrush. Almost as if the holster hadn’t been a treasure to die for but he wouldn’t be the one to understand the mind of animals.

Rodrick allowed himself a small prideful walk and crouched over the holster.

Looking at it, it really was made of the same stuff of this area. Half of its pouches hadn’t been finished, holes where the bottoms should have been. And the black of the holster, dragged on the earth, had smeared into the unsettling green shade. The mud it left was almost the exact shade of a dungeon’s claimed earth. Exactly the shade, he noted, examined it. Who’d ever be insane enough to make a dye with this. Whoever this holster belonged to, they must have been an odd one, a rich odd one.

Rodrick seized the holster.

He lifted up, intending to head back the way he came, and a taut vine-like cord followed, tethering it to the ground.

“What is this?”

Rodrick ran his finger around the cord and gave it an experimental tug. Why was it so strong? He pulled on the cord again and again, expecting it to break easily. It wouldn’t. He ran his hands around the holster instead, hoping to find the snag to which the cord was hooked onto. His fingers found where the cord held on but there was no snag. It was almost as if the cord was made of the exact same material, woven in just like the rest. The same fabric.

“Enough of this.”

Rodrick brought out his knife and slit through the cord.

“That should do it.”

He shook the rest of the gold coins into his open palm and marveled at the feel of such firm metal. Rodrick squeezed them, smirking. Ah, loot. Glorious loot! But wait... Who thought of metal as firm? Wasn’t a coin supposed to be smooth and cold, not firm and juicy?

Rodrick squeezed them again, confused of the texture. It couldn’t be-

“Isn’t this fruit?”

He blurted out.

“No... way. This is gold! This _is_ gold. Fruit doesn’t fucking shine.”

The vine cord darted up and whipped around his hands, winding around them. Rodrick dropped his knife, surprised.

Then the ground gave way.

Fuck.


	2. Monster Encounter: Vine Pit Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rodrick tries and fails to solve the trap. The trap that is his own dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Tentacles on Male. Situational Humiliation. Light Bondage. Oral Sex/Blow Job. Excessive Cum and Fluids. Dry-Humping. Awkward Boners. Monster Fetish. Monster Sex. Size Difference. Xenophilia.

Rodrick awoke submerged in soil, his upper half caught in a sub-ground... chamber?

The adventurer blinked slowly, dust sticking to his forehead and matted black hair. He would have used his hands but they were currently occupied. Two cord-like vines swept over both of his wrists, spreading his arms apart and forcing him to used his spread palms to keep his balance. _A sub-ground chamber._ That’s what this was, isn’t it? A regular sink-hole would have been smaller, he thought, and easier to get out of. There was usually time to climb out before you plummeted to your doom. And who'd ever pass in one, anyway?

Around Rodrick’s front, the earth had been hollowed out recently.

The brown spring-smelling soil was smooth. Featureless. Missing all of the usual things that should be crawling in such cool earth. Worms. Bugs. Critters just like that rabbit from earlier. The soil had been packed together into something sturdy -he tried his luck and it refused to budge- and claimed by magic. A bad sign. He brushed his hands across what little of the floor he could reach. The earth didn’t give, didn’t flake off into the same dust that was on his pale face. It kept to the ground, every particle that was in the air moving back to the same spot as if magnetized.

This sort of earthly formation wouldn’t be, shouldn’t be, happening anywhere outside of a dungeon.

The chamber walls curved out to the opening above, a round hole about the same size of his head. The last of the day’s sunlight fell in. Night just about here and blowing out the last of the waning glow. Leafy cords sprung out from the edges of the hole. They jumped across, wreathing a green covering over the little opening and went still.

From here, Rodrick spotted the odd pattern they made. A crescent moon right in the middle.

Was that a symbol he should keep note of?

He had never been in a dungeon this small so he could only assume that this was a trap. Traps in dungeons came in two forms: Time-wasters. Ones meant to delay an adventurer from proceeding too fast within a weak dungeon. Health-thieves. Cheats that allowed a dungeon to bite into an adventurer’s heath without having to throw a monster at them. They hardly gave any loot when solved.

Rodrick tried his legs.

They were free. Sort of. His lower half was still above ground, well, on ground to be honest. He was having a hard time keeping them straight with his back bent forward like this. Awkwardly standing, Rodrick wobbled on the tips of his boots. Legs shaking like jello as they leaned into each other for support.

The vulnerability of this position was getting on his nerves.

Spreading his legs would give him a better stance but what if a monster crept up behind him? They’d tear through him easily. His ass out to the world. His legs and knees unguarded without him being able to deliver a defensive blow. And yet, closing his legs didn’t help either. They made him unsteady and brought his limbs to the ground. They could be pushed and prodded in any way. A house of cards ready to be blown down in an lazy breeze.

And more than that, Rodrick’s mind couldn’t help wandering.

There was just something _suggestive_ about this position. It was indefensible, sure, but it was almost an allure in own way. Rodrick relaxed his legs for a moment if only to see a stupid thought through. Suggestive? This wasn’t suggestive. This was a tactical error on his part. His legs fell under him and that was it. He was now at the dungeon’s whim. A monster could come. A monster could not.

He waited for something to happen. Sound. Movement. A menacing shadow stalking towards him.

Nothing caught his ears, something he might have like to happen to keep his mind from turning filthy. Time-wasting traps meant you had to wait for it to start up while they held you hostage. They hid the levers or the connectable pieces or the secret riddle until they felt they held you long enough for the dungeon's reinforcements to show up. Heath-thieves were the same. Only that they’d blow up if you got it wrong on the first time.

Legs leaning left and right, Rodrick felt his desperate shifting push into the rest of him locked up.

Being this sort of vulnerable was a new one for him. Night was here. Monsters somewhere. And yet, he couldn’t do anything about it. And that, wow, the fact couldn’t let its claws out of his head. There was nothing he could do about it. Couldn’t run to an empty farm. Couldn’t wait out the night on fumes. But here’s the thing: He isn’t sure about what he would do about it.

His legs oughta have been shaking like a leaf.

But yet they were sly, brushing against each other and flexing back. Almost as if he was asking for an encounter with something big, mean, and scary. That would a been a normal thing. The usual.

But the longer time passed without nothing happened, the stronger those stupid thoughts got.

This pose was _suggestive_.

This vulnerability persistent and alluring.

Rodrick groaned, his eyebrows knitting together. This wasn’t the time to get horny over being held captive. Because that’s what this was. This wasn’t some new and interesting way to get plowed -he wished it was- but a stupid trap in a stupid dungeon. He had to keep his priorities straight. Escape. Anything that got between that had to go. Especially that bulge between his legs growing in size.

He mentally blanched. It had been a while since he rubbed one out.

His legs brushed together. He was armored up. Nothing was getting to the white meat without biting through his armor. But his imagination filled in the blanks. How he would look nude and stripped down. His cock and ass exposed to the world. Ready to be used by any who’d take him from behind.

Rodrick blushed.

Okay, that was going a little too far. He’d never let anything in his ass. Ever.

Rodrick snorted. Time to get back to work. Escape. Rodrick pulled, his feet shuffling on the loose soil. The ground wouldn’t give. Heavy earth molded against his shoulders, locking him in place. Rodrick pushed up, fighting against the weight. There were armor plates on his backs. The edges on them should be able to move the soil. He arched his back, rocking with his shoulders to shovel some earth off. He might as well as been rubbing against a steel door. The soil didn’t move.

Fine then.

If he couldn’t pull his body out, he’ll dig it out instead.

Rodrick got back on his wobbly feet and dug in with his boots. It’ll take some time but eventually-

The pit trap rumbled. Oh, so it was finally getting on with it. Which would it be? Time-waster or heath-thief. A hole opened in the middle of the chamber’s floor. In it was a deeper darkness, a mass of purple vines writhing in a glowing void of sun-like fluid. Their coils slid across each other, knocking to the filmy surface remnants of bone and fur.

There had been others here, hadn’t there?

The vines parted and one emerged bigger than all of them. It wormed itself to the chamber and took most of the enclosed space, massive and wide. Unlike the other vines, solid color and plant-like, this vine was semitransparent. A glass’s palest violet kept to its see-through form. Only around its head was the vine an actual vine and even that wasn’t completely true. Its head was bud-like and large, small triangular incisions ran along its protruding flytrap-like snout. From these slits, hot sap oozed out but Rodrick’s eyes wouldn’t keep away from the massive maw that was aimed towards him.

There was something about it.

The sweet stench. The sharp purple of its swollen bud-like jaw, it drooling with its fat puffy leafy lips. The throbbing veins that ran down its swelling length. His cock twitched in his under-armor.

Something about it. Something about was turning him on-

It had to be the stench in the air! The sweetness so thick and heavy that he could taste it on his tongue. Honey and sugar and nectar and madness overpowering his nostrils and taste buds until all he could recall of other things became like fantasy. Why would he want anything other than this nectar, this plentiful drink that was just waiting for him to take for his own? So much of it was in the pit below, in the beast above, and around him dripping down like a tease.

Part of the vine-monster’s great length looped around Rodrick’s neck, tugging him to attention.

The heat of the vine-monster’s sticky plant flesh sunk into his skin, the creature’s visible veins pulsing against him. The seductive sound thudded deep within his ears. His heart caught on to the beat, growing faster and louder as his traitorous cock came to life. It tried to assert itself through his groin cup and overlapping gear but the relief could never come with his hands tied and bound. Even so, his blood went south, fattening the bastard up.

This was getting out of hand.

He fought to jostle the vine-monster off and the creature only pulsed harder in response. Its oozy flesh writhing against him like the vines below. And the sweet drink was so near, trickling onto Rodrick’s entrapped front. His belly growled. His throat dry. Why shouldn’t he have just a little taste? Something so sweet couldn’t be that bad for him.

Rodrick stuck out his tongue and licked.

His taste buds ignited in pleasure. This was good. This was delicious beyond all measure. The sweetness, the overwhelming flavor! He had to have more. He swept his tongue across the wide expanse, licking off the nectar that coated the vine-monster from head to toe. The creature pressed harder against him, draping itself like a scarf as Rodrick tried and failed to slurp the juicy length into his willing mouth. The vine-monster opened its maw, its snout peeling back like the folds of a newly bloomed flower.

Bubbling sap gushed down, the overflow spilling on the chamber floor.

It seemed to spin towards the pit like water did when approaching a drain. What didn’t run down was absorbed by the soil, the earth visibly turning darker and corrupted. It wasn’t the dead earth of a typical dungeon. It was malicious now, alive and obedient to the vine-monster. The trap had something to do with this creature, a solution he could find if only he could keep his mouth away from this tongue-enslaving nectar.

Rodrick drank like a dying man, every drop sure to be the last if he didn’t coax out more.

The vine-monster’s body began to swell, replenishing the moisture it lost by sucking more fluid from the pit. Its form radiating a vibrant violet like it was casting a spell. Its looming maw curled under his neck, the creature opened its mouth and pressed against his front. Was this its way of kissing him? Taking him into its mouth with no interest of maiming or swallowing? The pendant on his neck grew blinding and Rodrick winced, his whole body thrumming from the whiplash of the prayer pendant's power. It swept through him, coursing through every vein and nerve he had. The vine-monster pressed harder and that purple sheen overtook the light. Rodrick moaned, a rag doll tossed to and fro from the magicks fighting against each other. 

Just a touch was enough to set his body off. Heat swept through him. Lust quick to follow after.

All he knew is that he wanted it, the monster, the pleasure, all of it.

He wanted in his mouth. He wanted it inside his body.

Somehow. Anyhow. _Now_.

Rodrick clung to it and sucked directly from the plant flesh. The rushing juice poured into his mouth, the drink never enough to parch his insatiable hunger for it. For the sweetness that wouldn’t linger unless he had one more swallow.

The vine-monster tightened around, its length stiffening and twitching.

Rodrick sucked harder, eyes falling up to catch the bud bloat, bursting with nectar. The vine-monster’s maw wrenched open. It spewed. Buckets of nectar fell against the walls, the steaming load dousing Rodrick until he was soaked in that slimy gold-like fluid. The vine-monster jerked a few seconds longer, the vibrations shaking the adventurer in the soil like a house in an earthquake.

Shameless, he humped the mound in front of him. Dragging his groin cup over the dirt hill.

Rodrick licked the sweetness off his lips and considered the completely insane possibility that he might have given a plant-monster an orgasm. An oral orgasm at that. Rodrick looked at the creature gone limp, its sated stirring filling the air and his own swollen lips and sticky drenched face.

“So,” he said, practicing the line he’ll say in town when questioned about his whereabouts. “I’ve solved the trap. It was easy. I merely had to think outside the box.”

The box a metaphor for his dick.

Facts first, the trap monster was down.

The puzzle parts apparent. Ceiling moon. Pit sun. The pit was glowing yellow, it couldn’t be anymore obvious. This was a ‘bring the sun to the moon’ sort of puzzle that he had to solve without using his hands. And here was his solution: He made an ‘eclipse’ happen via the vine-monster.

Sure his methods wouldn’t be going into any field journals but it got the job done.

The ‘sunlight’ of the pit was everywhere, spilling down the walls and the covered opening and if that didn’t solve everything, then, well, he had nothing.

Rodrick wiggled his hips, expecting the earth to pull back. It didn’t.

“I solved the trap,” he said again, louder this time.

Wasn’t there suppose to be a chime or a click or at least a notification from his prayer pendant?

Rodrick glanced down at the pendant around his neck.

The formerly blue stone had gone white. Hmmm, another first. He hadn’t exactly remembered what all the colors meant but he was pretty sure that was a bad sign.

“In the name of Aulra, please show me the way.”

The pendant wobbled but lifted itself up like countless times before. A screen formed. A weird one. It showed a row of angry red messages.

[Transfer Denied]  
[Transfer Denied]  
[Transfer Denied]  
…

[Affinity Proven]  
…  
…  
…

[Transfer Accepted]

All of them reading the same until the last ones.

> [SPAWN] Vine Pit Monster  
>  [LVL]: 43  
>  [Species]: Monster  
>  [Race]: Plant  
>  [HP]: 4000/4000 (+4000/s)  
>  [MP]: 1000/1000

“Why are you showing the monster’s stats? That’s a textbook foul creature in front of me! Hostile or not. I didn’t ask for a scan of the creature! I don’t even have the magic for it. What happened to mine?!”

[New Job Class Unlocked for (Rodrick Grimley)!]  
[New Job Class Unlocked for (Spawn’s Master)!]

The screen fizzled out for a moment, updating, and it made even less sense.

> [Monster Thrall] Rodrick Grimley  
>  [LVL]: Undefined  
>  [Species]: Human  
>  [Race]: Plant/Human  
>  [HP]: Undefined  
>  [MP]: Undefined

“I don’t… Pendant, what’s a [Monster Thrall]? I’ve never heard of one, actually.”

The pendant went inert and Rodrick supposed having a mana potion on him right now would be pretty useful.

The vine-monster came to and uncoiled off him. It seemed pleased with itself or rather, pleased with him. It murmured sounds and rubbed against his face. The new job class must have caused this. It tamed the monster, somehow. The creature swept down into the pit and pulled something out the sweet bath.

It was a wooden board, no, a sign. A poorly written one.

The vine-monster gestured to it and waited for a response on his end. Well, it wouldn’t get any.

FIND HUMMaN  
-Four Lymbs  
-Breethes Loud  
-Ates  
-Makes Smealls  
-Makes Saap

Is HUMMaN! Claim HUMMaN.

FIND BEEast  
-Some Lymbs (if falls off, not four)  
-Breethes Little  
-No Ates  
-Makes Meat  
-Makes Blud

Is BEEast! Kill BEEast.

“Wait.”

Rodrick blurted out. This couldn’t be happening.

“Wait! I thought-”

The vine-monster swung the sign again. Closer this time. He could smell the dried blood used to write those words and the rotting meat down in the pit, the sweetness now raw and rancid reaching his nose. “Wait!” he stuttered out, his mind going into overdrive. What the fuck? What the fuck! Rodrick yanked back with his legs. Dig dumbass, dig! Damn it, why couldn’t he pull himself out?

Rodrick kicked and flailed.

Shit? Shit!

Something coiled around his ankle, wrenching it to the side.

Rodrick kicked at it to no avail.

The vine-monster moved the sign to a wall and the earth molded around it, hoisting it up and displaying the strange reasoning it had to determine if a person was a human or a beast. For some reason, a small tendril, thin like a quill, broke through the nectar water. It shook itself off and went to the space right next to the sign.

It looked like-

It looked like it was writing in a human language! How could this be possible?! Monsters can’t read and they certainly can’t writing anything in human. You needed to be a monster-tamer or a beast-master to communicate with these hostile and horrible creatures! And who would other than the depraved and mad!

“1.”

Something coiled around his other ankle, bringing him to his knees.

“2.”

A vine rose from the pit, thicker than the one already on him, ringed around his left wrist.

“3.”

Another to his right.

“4.”

And Rodrick supposed that this situation said a lot about his non-existent sex life since his hard-on has yet to go down. If anything, it just got worse. Vines around him, Rodrick couldn’t change his stance anymore. They tugged his legs apart, forcing him to arch and bend to keep his knees steady. His breath went husky. His hips twitched, trying the holds against them. The vines moved a little. They gave him just enough room to start to stand before they firmly made him kneel again.

He mentally blanched.

What was wrong with him?

Why wasn’t he feeling fear? Why wasn’t he frightened? He must be under a lust curse!

The vine-monster opened its maw, a stream of stewy fluid spilled onto the floor. Was it smiling at him? Its tendril tapped against the sign, silently asking a question. Which was he: Human or Beast?

Answering either question didn’t seem like a good idea.

If the monster thought he was an animal, it’ll probably drop him into that pit. He’d be dead for sure. If the monster thought he was a human, who knows what ‘claiming’ really means. What if it was a monster term for making human leather? Rodrick shuddered.

The tendril underlined a section, “if limbs fall out, not four.”

“If you’re smart enough to read, you’re smart enough to let me go,” Rodrick babbled, “Look, there’s no need to keep me here. I’m scrawny. I haven’t eaten well in forever so you’ll only get sick eating me. Adult humans have over 200 bones. Think about the digestion problem. You’re a big scary monster. You have to think about your health. Can’t devour anything sick as a dog, am I right? Right-”

The vine around his left ankle moved.

“And I have no money!” he said, his voice going high. “Money! So there wouldn’t be any good loot from my corpse. Unless you wanted loot. Bad loot. Terrible loot. Listen, I think you should let me go. We’ve already determined I’m a bad meal and a bad loot source. We adventurers let small prey like me go. You’re level 43. I’m level 10. That’s a big difference of power there and that means we need to talk about the value of letting small fry like me go back into the wild.”

The vine-monster leaned over him and opened its mouth, drooling on him. That was... _progress_!

“Of course, I can see why I might look like an easy meal on a silver platter but-”

The vine weaved around his heel, winding higher and higher until it met the bit of leg where his leggings started and his boots ended. “Stop it! There’s nothing there. C’mon, we had a moment earlier. A moment!” The tip expanded and forced its way into the gap, pushing into the boot and tugging the leather fabric down. His shoe slid off, the laces loosening and unraveling the more the vine dug in.

The boot fell off and his sock was next to follow.

“Living being to living being, I can’t really see the point in this. If you were meant to catch humans, you wouldn’t need instructions to do that. You should know a human from the moment you saw me. Maybe I’m not a human or a beast? I could be a human-shaped monster or a ghost or a undead or-”

The vine prodded his bare foot, twining around his toes and giving his little digits gentle tugs.

Rodrick braced himself. It was about to get real. He readied for the vine to show its true intentions and start ripping his toes off one by one. Toes could fall off if a monster like this wanted to get technical. And besides, he never knew a monster to resist tearing into a man the moment they had him in its midst.

But the vine, it didn’t.

Rodrick waited, serious-face on and sweating a storm. The vine wiggled his toes, pushing them together and apart. It was making him a little ticklish. The motion of it distracting. He flexed his heel as much as he could, trying to worm his way out of the vine’s grasp. The vine tightened, its wiry length pushing firm into his slender sole.

He gasped.

The pressure nice.

The vine-monster hovered in front of his face watching him. It had no eyes. But the sensation was unsettlingly the same. It was observing him. Something about his gasping caught its attention. Was this fun for it? Poke and prod the human? It moved closer to his open mouth. Its gaze making his lips burn from the attention. Rodrick closed his mouth and turned away, embarrassed. The creature brushed its snout against his face. The texture hot and pulsating like the rest of it. Rodrick turned again. The smell of the nectar so close making the inside of his mouth fill up with saliva.

He drooled a little.

The vine-monster pressed against Rodrick’s lips, its lower jaw filled with smaller vines -tentacle-like- lapping along his chin. The creature breathed against him. Rich golden fumes blew into his face. The scent making his eyes sting and mouth drool even more. The little mouth-tentacles, bulbous and short, tickled the sides of his mouth, absorbing the saliva that crept out.

Head swimming, Rodrick opened his mouth.

They swept in, pushing deep into his mouth, overfilling his cheek. Rodrick groaned, eyes fluttering shut like a virgin on her wedding night. His cheeks burned. His heart went haywire. The nectar tasted different. Sharper and rich, it poured into his mouth and spilled right out, drizzling down his stained front like he really needed another bath in the sticky goodness. Rodrick rolled his tongue around the squirmy mouth-tentacles. They were so chunky and wide around the heads, little openings on their engorged tips squirted more that sweetness down into his throat.

They were kissing in a way, weren’t they?

Rodrick pulled back and the monster mimicked him, pulling back as well. Damn. There weren’t enough soap in the world to get all this juice off. The sticky fluid dyed his head a yellowish sheen, filmy bubbles forming on the sides of his bangs and plopping down, crystallizing into orbs of solid nectar. Was that supposed to happen? The balls rolled down the curves walls and splashed into the pit. The solid nectar seemed to freeze the area where the orbs had fell, the liquid surface freezing solid.

He gave himself a shake to knock the fluid off. Plan? There was a plan here. Neutralize the pit, the monster, and escape!

His skin tingled, the nectar doing something freaky to his skin. It wasn’t bad. It didn’t hurt. Rodrick licked his lips, cleaning some of it off. But it was doing something. His senses sharpened. The texture of everything around him; his clothes, his armor and his holster. They felt nearly unbearable now. Prisons around his body. Rodrick pushed up against the soil around him. The coolness of it helped a little.

“See that? That was a moment.”

He coughed, some of the nectar went down the wrong pipe.

“Think about it. Moment. If you killed or claimed me, we couldn’t have any more moments. Unless you kissed/swallowed every person you had down here. Which does two things: One, hurts my feelings. Two, makes me think how many drinks I’ll need after this to have to forget I ever kissed you willingly. I’m thinking twelve shots before my liver gives out. You?”

The vine released his toes and flicked itself down his arched heel.

A giggle escaped his throat.

“Ignore that.”

The vine did it again. He laughed.

“Seriously, ignore that.”

The vine-monster lowered its mouth around his long neck, the mouth-tentacles stroking his throat.

Rodrick giggled again, squirming away.

“Stop it. Stop it, you dick! This might be a typical Tuesday for you but I’d like to not be-”

The vine around Rodrick’s other foot toyed with the laces, ripping them apart one by one until the boot went slack. Then it peeled away the leather shoe and his sock, freeing his foot. The vine ran over his exposed heel. Rodrick sharply inhaled. The short strokes and firm squeezing, it was caressing him, playing with the sensitive skin. The vine coiled around his foot, rubbing it until it ached with pleasure.

A laugh fumbled somewhere between his throat.

Rodrick wheezed, trying to stifle it and giggled even harder.

Distracted, he paid little attention to the vines around his wrists. They examined his hands and fingers, rubbing against his palms and coiling up his inner arms. The vines tugged on his gloves and pulled them off. They fell into the pit and dissolved into goop. Rodrick’s unwanted laughter died in his teeth.

“Okay! We have learned that I have four limbs that _don’t_ fall off. Let’s move on.”

The vine-monster tilted its head.

“Do you,” its gesture seemed to say. Wasn’t it satisfied already?!

“C’mon!”

More vines coiled to the start of his leggings. They pushed into the fabric and slipped under, snapping the belts bound around his legs and hips. The vines weaved up his toned thighs, tickling the soft pliant skin there. They tugged his legs apart, forcing him to arch in an even more awkward position. Or maybe, he did that himself. He arched even more, his body thrumming with want and need. His ass was in the air, cheeks spread and just asking for a lucky monster to take a bite right out of him. Rodrick twisted against them. He couldn’t shake them out.

They tore holes through his under-armor, making holes and bring cool air to lay on his hot skin.

“Ngn,” Rodrick panted, “Could you-” He stopped himself. What was he going to ask?

The vines stroked his hips, their bulky lengths bulging through his under-armor and slipping into his briefs. He could feel their wet tips move over his ass-cheeks, pressing into the flesh there. His knees buckled and he leaned into the earth. Rodrick groaned. What was this? What was this really? A little _mostly_ unintended molestation and he’s ready to be fucked by a monster.

The vines lifted and moved his limbs, clearly examining them with an unaffected air.

They didn’t seem to notice or care that they had him at their mercy.

At any moment, they could have him like a monster would. Violently. Without mercy. In his mind’s eye, he saw it play out. The predictable bad end. The vines ripping all of his clothes off and diving into him. Death close at hand right after.

And he wouldn’t say he’d feel bad dying like that either.

“Soooo,” Rodrick dragged out, “I know you can understand me. Kinda of. I know that _whatever_ it is you’re supposed to be doing, you’re not doing it. You’ve been treating me too nicely for that, I think.”

If 'nicely' meant aggressively fondled and unexplainable tentacle make-outs.

He swallowed loudly.

“C-Could you… touch me? I mean, fuck me? Stupid, I _know_. But I'm thinking... if you’re going to be examining me, why not make it fun for the both of us?”

His pendant glowed.

[Condition Unlocked: (Monster Thrall) Unique Skills and Leveling Tree]

[Associated starter skills and traits are as followed:] 

Monster Allure lvl 1

Monster Language Knowledge: Plant-Beast

Breeding Bitch lvl 1

Monster Mimicry: Plant-Beast

Minion Master lvl 1

...

...

[Skill Automatically Activated: Breeding Bitch]

Rodrick stared blankly at the screen.

None of what was on the screen read as a simple fuck-and-run. And why were these strange skills overwriting his adventurer ones?!

" _Ah_ ," said the vine-monster, " _You wish to serve as a fertile incubator for my seeds. I shall help you in that regard and fill you nicely, **thrall**_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL;DR 
> 
> The vine-monster is a spawn creature to another monster. Said spawn creature was meant to capture humans and steal their human-exclusive Job Classes. Generally speaking, you can't steal a human's Job Class and only humans can exchange Job Classes among each other. 
> 
> But the transfer occurred because Rodrick proved he had an affinity with monsters through orgasms.


End file.
